


Homecoming

by Once_More_With_Feeling



Category: Downton Abbey
Genre: But also an important conversation or two, Families of Choice, Family, Friendship, Reunions, mostly fluffy
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-04-13
Updated: 2018-04-17
Packaged: 2019-04-22 10:05:30
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 6,969
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14306361
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Once_More_With_Feeling/pseuds/Once_More_With_Feeling
Summary: In January 1926, Thomas returns to Downton as the new butler. This is the story of his first day back.





	1. Chapter 1

**15 January, 1926**

_Click._

_Thunk._

_Snap, snap._

That’s it, then; he is all packed. Ready to move on. To move home, that is. It’s funny how moving _back_ to Downton feels so much more like moving _forward_ than anything ever has. And not just forward, but upward. Butler of Downton Abbey. What would his mother say?

Thomas smiles, and runs his finger carefully over the edge of his case. Once he gets home, he might spend some time thinking on what his mother would say, if she were alive to see what he has accomplished. And if he can’t think what it might be, he knows a few people who could help fill in the gaps.

***

The train whistles as it enters Downton station, and Thomas leans toward the window. He can’t quite look out though; the frigid morning light is too bright—nearly blinding. He suppresses a grin as the train comes to full stop. He stands from his seat, grabs his cases, and steps out onto the platform. All he needs to do is find a cab back to the big house, and then—

“Thomas?”

He turns around, and rolls his eyes, but smiles, too. “What on earth are you doing here?” he asks.

Phyllis steps forward and embraces him—it’s alright to do that on a train platform, after all. “What do you mean, what am I doing here?” his sister (near enough) answers. “I couldn’t wait to see you,” she says.

He shakes his head, and leans down to kiss her cheek. “Well, I don’t mind a bit,” he says. “I couldn’t wait to see you, either.”

When he straightens up again, he sees she is holding a package in her hands, wrapped in white paper, and tied with a string. She hands it to him. “I also didn’t want to wait to give you this,” she says.

He gives her a bit of a suspicious smile. “What is it?” he asks.

She tilts her head. “Thomas,” she says. “Did you think I’d forgot?”

Now he laughs a little. “No,” he answers. “I may have tried to forget, but I should’ve known you wouldn’t.”

“I know it was yesterday,” she says, softly now. “But you still ought to be wished a happy birthday.”

He busies himself with removing the string and paper, and finds inside it… “Mittens?” he asks, a little confused.

“No, but look,” she says, and takes them out of his hands. “There’s a little flap here, and when you pull it back…” she demonstrates, pulling back the top half of one of the mittens, to reveal fingerless gloves underneath.

“Isn’t that clever?” he finds himself saying. “Now I can smoke without my hands freezing completely.” She smiles, clearly pleased with herself. “And if I’m not mistaken, they match my scarf as well.”

She nods. “Anna gave me the rest of the wool she bought last summer. But only on condition that I make something for you.”

“Well, they are my color,” he concedes. “Thank you, Phyl. Thanks for remembering.”

She smiles up at him. “I’ll always remember your birthday, little brother,” she answers.

“Shall we get a cab back, then?” he asks.

Phyllis shakes her head. “Oh, no. There’s no need for a cab.”

“His Lordship sent you in a car?” he asks, a bit impressed. What a lovely gesture his former, now new, employer has made.

But she shakes her head again. “Not exactly,” she says. She opens her mouth to explain the rest, but is cut off.

“Barrow!” Lady Mary’s voice precedes the clicking of her shoes on the wood of the platform. Thomas manages a half second of widened eyes in Phyllis’ direction, before turning to Her Ladyship.

“Milady,” he says, trying desperately not to laugh. Suddenly the question, ‘What on earth are you doing here?’ takes on new meaning. Lady Mary is followed immediately by Mr. Branson, who steps forward and offers his hand to Thomas.

“Barrow,” Tom echoes warmly. The two shake hands for the first time, as Thomas continues to try to understand what is happening.

“Mr. Branson offered to drive me here to collect you,” Phyllis explains gently.

“And I thought I’d come along,” Mary supplies. She turns directly to Thomas. “We all thought you deserved a bit of a to-do.” Thomas and Mary both look down for a moment, blushing at the sound of that. Lady Mary softens her tone somewhat. “We’re all ever so glad to have you back, Barrow,” she says. “And to see you looking so well.”

Thomas nods. “Thank you, milady,” he says. Mr. Branson gestures toward the street where the car must be waiting, and Thomas picks up his cases again.

They exit the station together, but then… Oh, God. The car. The family’s car… where are they all going to sit? Phyllis bites her lip, and he knows she is wondering the same thing, but is afraid to ask. Thomas and Phyllis both stop, and stand awkwardly on the pavement, and for a second or two, Mr. Branson and Lady Mary continue on. When she realizes they have nearly lost half their party, Lady Mary turns around. Once she ascertains the reason behind their reticence, she rolls her eyes.

“For God’s sake,” she says, though not unkindly. “You two sit in the back. It won’t kill me to sit up front with Mr. Branson.”

Thomas and Phyllis exchange bewildered glances, then both shrug silently, and once Thomas has strapped his cases to the boot, they both climb into the back seat.

And so, the butler and the lady’s maid are driven home from the station by a pair of toffs, as though this sort of thing happens every day. It is Downton, after all.


	2. Chapter 2

Once the car is gliding over the frosty, sunlit landscape that is North Yorkshire, Lady Mary turns around in her seat and addresses Thomas.

“Do you think you’ll be able to serve dinner tonight, Barrow?”

He smiles placidly. “I don’t see why not, milady,” he answers.

“Good,” she answers, and purses her lips, satisfied. “You needn’t worry about luncheon, though.”  
  
“Oh?” Thomas asks.

Lady Mary’s face brightens. “We’re taking Papa _and Mama_ to the Grantham Arms for our luncheon, so you can have—”

Mr. Branson overtly nudges his sister-in-law from his place in the driver’s seat. She gives him a look, then continues.

“So you can have the afternoon to get settled. No family about. Does that suit you?”

Thomas steals a look at Phyllis. “…Yes, milady. I’m sure it does. Thank you.”

She purses her lips again, then turns around. She gives Tom another exasperated look, but when he smiles at her, she smiles back. Thomas rolls his eyes.

Mr. Branson pulls the car up to the front entrance, and Thomas finds he needs to protest. “Milady, would it be alright if we went around to the servants’ entrance first? I’ve got my cases, and I don’t want to inconvenience you, but—”

“Oh, nonsense, Barrow,” Lady Mary answers. “You’re coming home to us. You’re perfectly within your rights to use the front entrance this time. You too, Baxter,” she throws in.

Neither Thomas or Phyllis is sure this is true, but know not to argue any further. Andy comes out the front door then, and opens Lady Mary’s car door. “Thank you, Andrew,” she says. “Would you help Barrow with his cases?”

“Of course, milady,” Andy answers blankly. When Thomas steps out of the car, he is no longer able to hide his grin. “Mr. Barrow,” he says warmly. He extends his hand, and Thomas takes it in his. “Welcome home.”

Thomas wonders if he will ever get tired of hearing those words. “Thank you, Andy. It’s good to be home.” Andy smiles, and the two begin to unload Thomas’ luggage. “I see they’ve still got you footmanning about.”

Andy shrugs. “Just sometimes. Like when we welcome home our new butler.”

“And when it’s the middle of winter, so things are a bit slow at the farm.”

“Right,” Andy concedes, a little chagrinned.   

“You’ll have to tell me all about it,” Thomas says. “Farming. How you like it.”

“Alright,” Andy says, still smiling.

Just then Lord and Lady Grantham step outside, dressed for luncheon out, and wearing hats and coats. Lord Grantham shakes Thomas’ hand, and Thomas gets to hear the phrase “Welcome home,” again.

“Thank you, sir,” Thomas answers. “It’s good to be home. And thank you, Your Ladyship,” he says. Cora gives him a beaming smile, and offers him her gloved hand.

“It’s wonderful to have you back, Barrow,” she says. “And now we’re off on our own adventure.” She looks at her husband. He raises his eyebrows. Lady Grantham returns her gaze to Thomas, and says, “My first time in a pub. Won’t that be exciting?”

“I’m sure it will, milady,” he answers, and part of him wishes he could go along to watch. Mr. Branson and Lady Mary have gotten out of the car, but do not move to enter the house. They climb back into the front seat, Mr. Branson at the wheel, and Lady Mary next to him again. Andy holds the door for Lord and Lady Grantham, who arrange themselves in the back seat.

Thomas, Phyllis, and Andy stand and watch the family drive away, and for a moment they are silent, out on the gravel in front of this fine house, empty of its family for the moment. Then Thomas speaks.

“Hm. I should have recommended that Her Ladyship have the fish and chips,” he says.

Phyllis doesn’t look at him, but keeps her eyes on the disappearing tiny car. “I did,” she says. Thomas looks at her, and they share a smirk. “I wouldn’t want her to miss the best thing on the menu.”

The three laugh now, and walk into the house.

***

Thomas wants to take his things immediately up to his room, but Phyllis insists he come downstairs first. “But Phyl,” he protests. “I’ve only got a few hours to get settled. I have to be ready to serve tonight.”

“You will be,” she says, putting him off, while at the same time taking his arm. “I’ve already pressed your livery; everything’s ready for you.” Thomas smiles at her. He should have known.

Andy takes one of Thomas’ cases from him, and the three make their way down the servants’ staircase. When they step off the bottom stair, Thomas becomes quickly aware of how oddly quiet it is downstairs. Why isn’t Mrs. Patmore shouting at Daisy? Why aren’t Anna, and Bates, and Mrs. Hughes rushing past him, on their way to somewhere or other?

“Phyllis, what’s going—” he is saying as he enters the servants’ hall. He stops, though, when he sees Daisy, Mrs. Patmore, Anna, Bates, Mrs. Hughes, and even the hall boys and day housemaids, all gathered at the opposite side of the table, where a banquet has been laid.

“Surprise!” they all shout, and Thomas is entirely flummoxed. There are paper decorations on the walls, and a little pile of presents at the head of the table.  
  
“What on earth?” he finally asks. What can they possibly all be doing?

“What d’you think, silly?” Daisy answers, above the laughter that surrounds them. “We’re welcoming you home, of course!” she says now, her face full of delight.

“And wishing you a slightly belated birthday,” Mrs. Hughes adds, as she comes around the table to give Thomas a kiss on the cheek.

If Thomas were to add up all thirty-five of his previous birthdays before this one, and count the number of people who have celebrated them with him, he doubts it would be more than the number of people in this room. This is a party. For him.

He manages to mumble some thanks to everyone, and nearly sheds a tear or two, but Phyllis steps in and guides him to his new place at the head of the table. Before he sits, though, he leans down and asks softly so only she can hear, “Why’d you give me the bloody mittens on the train platform, if you had all this planned?”

Without missing a beat, she tilts her head toward his ear, and answers, “Because I wanted you to think for a minute that that’s all we had planned for your birthday.”

Thomas has to admit that he is impressed with her trickery this time, and what would have been tears turn quickly to a knowing grin. “Clever girl,” he drawls. “We’ll have to see what I can come up with for your birthday, then.”

She raises her eyebrows in answer, then says, “Besides, it’s not just your birthday. It’s your homecoming, too. Daisy and Mrs. Patmore have been up since the middle of the night working on all this. So let’s not let it go to waste.”


	3. Chapter 3

“MR. BAWWOW!!” Thomas’ favorite little voice calls from just outside the servants’ hall. And then, in a thunder of tiny feet, Master George and Miss Sybbie come charging in, and make a beeline for the new butler.

Thomas just barely has time to stand before they reach him; George jumps into Thomas’ arms, and Sybbie hugs him about the waist. Nanny comes in behind them, looking slightly winded.

“I knew you would come back,” George says. “Sybbie said you never would. But she was wrong.”

Sybbie releases Thomas from her arms, only to stomp her foot and place her hands on her hips. “I did not,” she says firmly.

“Well anyway, I’m back now, aren’t I?” Thomas asks, and sits down again, this time with George on his lap.

Sybbie steps up close to him again, and says, “We’ve made you a present.” From the pocket of her dress, she reveals a folded yellow crown, decorated with shiny bits of paper, cut out by tiny hands.

Thomas takes it from her, unfolds it, and addresses both children. “Isn’t this beautiful?” he says, inspecting it.

“Yes, only you’ve got to put it on,” George says.

“Because it’s your very special day!” Sybbie supplies.

Thomas raises his eyebrows. “Well, that is true indeed,” he answers. And though it pains him a little to muss his hair, he carefully crowns himself with his new treasure. “How do I look?” he asks.

Sybbie claps her hands. “Perfect!” she says. “You’re the king!” George rests his head on Thomas’ shoulder, safe once again in the sovereign’s embrace.

The servants all smother their laughter with polite smiles, and Daisy prompts Thomas to open the rest of his presents. This is his first birthday that has ever involved a pile of presents (modest, but a pile nonetheless), and Thomas wishes he could sit and look at it a moment longer, before tearing in. Since this is not a bad problem to have, however, he smiles and obliges everyone by opening their gifts.

Once he is finished, the children insist that he wear _everything_ he has been given, all at once. This is how Thomas comes to find himself sitting in the servants’ hall wearing not only a beautiful paper crown, but also a new burgundy tie (from Mrs. Hughes, and she insists, Mr. Carson, too) draped around his neck, three handkerchiefs in varying shades of blue (from the Bateses) stuffed in his shirt pocket, and Miss Baxter’s mittens on his hands (with the flaps pulled back, so he can share in his birthday banquet). The chocolate truffles from Daisy and Mrs. Patmore are difficult to wear, so he indulges them by eating two upon opening the tin. The gift that surprises him the most, though, is a silver-plated cigarette case from the family, engraved inside with his new favorite words: _Welcome Home_ , followed by _January 1926._ This Thomas places inside his jacket pocket, next to his brimming heart.

***

The waning sun shines through the windows of the servants’ hall at a slant, and Thomas knows that his first ever birthday party must come to an end soon. The children need to return to the nursery, and he still needs to unpack. He risks a soft kiss to the top of George’s head, then releases him to Nanny. Sybbie steps forward once more to hug him, and asks, “Are you going to come to the nursery sometimes, and read to us again?”

“Of course I am,” he assures her, and lightly taps the tip of her nose. She giggles, and turns and follows Nanny up the stairs. Now it is Thomas’ turn to stand and head upstairs. “Thank you, everyone,” he says to those still gathered at the table. “First Christmas, and now this,” he says with a slight shake of his head. “I am going to be one spoiled butler, indeed.”

“Let’s hope so,” Phyllis says with a smile, as he picks up both of his cases, and makes for the stairs.

***

When he arrives at his old room, he sees his name has already been written on a slip of paper and inserted into the tiny frame on the door. He recognizes the script as Phyllis’, and wonders for a moment at all the time she must have spent, preparing for his return today.

He pushes open his door, to see inside that his bed has already been made with fresh white sheets. And folded neatly at the foot is his light blue silk duvet, the one he was given last summer, when he wasn’t well. He had never asked who got it for him, and he hadn’t felt right about taking it with him when he left. Apparently though, someone feels that it ought to belong to him again.

He sets his cases down by his old bureau, and steps over to the bed, to see a note has been pinned to the duvet.

_Yours to keep now—Her Ladyship insisted.  —Mrs. H._

He smiles. He runs a hand over the smooth silk, then opens it up, and spreads it over his bed. There is something particularly beautiful about how gloriously out of place it is, in his otherwise sparse little garret room, and he smiles again.

There is a knock at the door then, and when he looks up, Phyllis enters. “I have a little while before Her Ladyship needs me,” she says. “I thought I could help you settle in.”

“Alright,” he answers. He picks up the smaller of his cases, and opens it on his bed. Inside are a framed photo of his mother, and a small bundle of letters that he received while he was away. The letters he places in the drawer of his night table, and the photograph he places on top. From the safety of his jacket pocket, he pulls his gift from Sybbie and George, and tenderly crowns his bedside lamp. He is about to retrieve several books from the case on his bed, when he notices that Phyllis has opened his larger case, and is moving his undershirts and pajamas into his bottom drawer. He watches her for a moment, and she looks up at him, and blushes.

“I’ll let you do the… smaller things,” she says, and begins pulling out his jackets and trousers, so she can hang them in his wardrobe. He nods, and returns to his books.

When she has finished with most of his clothes, she turns to him and watches as he places his books back on his low little shelf. Some are new, and some he had before he left. She picks up his copy of _The Great Gatsby_ , which she gave him for Christmas. The dog-eared pages make it obvious that he has finished it already. She crouches next to him, and looks at the book as she speaks.

“Did you… make a connection with anyone while you were with the Stileses? Anyone you might stay in contact with?” she asks.

He shrugs. “Not really. But that’s alright,” he answers.

She nods, and places the book on his shelf. “Did you… have you…” She moves her lips silently, searching for the words. He waits. “Have you met any… men like you?”

He can’t help but laugh a little. “No,” he says. “But that’s because I only met about five people while I was away. Odds weren’t very good.”

She blushes again, and he wonders if she is embarrassed. If she is, why would she ask?  
  
“Is it… alright for me to ask you that?”

Oh.

Thomas takes a deep breath, and looks her in the eye. He nods his head slowly.

“Yes,” he says at last. “Only in private, mind.”

“Of course,” she assures him.

“Yes,” he says once more, for good measure. “It’s alright. I trust you.”

For some reason, her eyes suddenly fill with tears. She looks away a moment, and wipes her cheek with the back of her hand.

“Phyl…” he starts.

She sniffs. “Sorry,” she says. “It’s good. I mean—that’s good. That you trust me. I’m glad.”

Thomas puts his hand on her shoulder, and allows himself a second or two to consider how long she has worked to earn his trust. He rubs her back for a moment, and says softly, “I should have trusted you long before now.” He shrugs slightly. “But all we can do is go forward.”

Phyllis nods in agreement. Thomas glances at the window. It is only mid-afternoon, but the winter sky is becoming dark already. “I’d better get changed, if I’m going to serve tea,” he tells her.

She nods again, and stands. “I’ll see you downstairs,” she says, and leaves, so he can get dressed.


	4. Chapter 4

He dresses himself in his livery, perfectly pressed, as Phyllis promised. He ties his white tie without so much as a glance in his tiny mirror; the perfect knot is something his fingers have long since memorized. Once every speck of lint has been brushed from his sleeves, he straightens his posture. He wishes for a second that he had his own full-length mirror in his room, but even the most experienced of butlers do not have that luxury. Perhaps some day.

As he makes his way down all the stairs, he thinks how strange it is to feel at once brand new, and at the same time, finally returned home to what he has always known. Is this as visible to outsiders as it is keenly felt in his own heart? He allows himself a look at his reflection in the mirror at the bottom of the stairs, outside the servants’ hall, but still he is unsure. He looks like himself, of course, and wears the same livery he did as footman and under-butler. But he is different now. And he is sure that more than just his job title has changed.

Mrs. Hughes comes out of the kitchen, and approaches him from behind. She stands next to him, so that they both look at their reflections in the glass. “You look very smart, Mr. Barrow,” she says, and gazes fondly at him in the mirror.

Thomas smiles at her reflection, and answers, “Thank you. Do I look… different, though?”

She tilts her head toward him. “Do you feel different?” she asks.

He considers a moment, then nods.

“Well then,” she says. “I would say that’s all that matters.” She turns to the real Thomas now, and adds, “I need to speak with you after dinner, if it’s alright.”

“Of course,” he says.

She smiles. “Good. Mrs. Patmore has the family’s tea ready. You’d better be off.”

He nods his head, and walks into the kitchen.

***

Stifling laughter quickly becomes Thomas’ newest hobby. He knows he isn’t to show emotion when he’s working, and his old servants’ blank had always come easily to him. But it’s so hard now—he finds that he is so genuinely happy to be where he is, that it is difficult not to smile all the time.

He does his best to hide his delight when he first walks into the library with the tea, and again when Lord and Lady Grantham thank him for serving. He allows himself a full grin, though, when George and Sybbie are brought down by Nanny. No rational person could help but smile on seeing those two.

It happens again when he rings the gong at seven o’clock. He is alone during that exercise, though, so allows himself a tiny snort of amusement at the delicious and satisfying sound. He wonders for a moment if Mr. Carson ever had this problem, and this makes him laugh out loud. Before he gives in to further thoughts of Mr. Carson giggling uncontrollably while sitting alone in his pantry, decanting wine, Thomas shakes himself a little, and tries to stand just a little straighter. It won’t do to be found laughing alone in the great hall like some kind of… happy person.

Serving the family’s dinner that night is a similar experience. In the end, he decides that an occasional smile is acceptable, as long as he doesn’t laugh outright. This turns out to be a helpful rule. He employs it again, when he walks into the hall that evening for the servants’ dinner. He knows what is coming, but of course he cannot help but grin widely when everyone stands when he enters the room. For one second, he considers leaving, so they will all sit down, then entering once more, so they will all have to stand again. But he thinks better of it. If he starts that, he could go on all night. Instead he decides to just enjoy the fact that nearly all of them are smiling back at him.

When dinner is nearly finished, Mrs. Hughes turns to him. Before she says anything, he asks, “Would you like to speak with me in my pantry?”

She smiles. “Oh, no. I was just wondering if you would walk me home.”

His eyes widen a little. “Of course I will. Is that all you needed to ask me?” he says.

Mrs. Hughes shrugs a little. “I know my way of course. It’s just that it’s dark, and I’m used to walking home with Mr. Carson. I’d enjoy your company, if you have the time.”

He nods his head again. “I do have the time. And I’d be happy to.” Now he shrugs. “I’ll walk you home every night, if you want.”

She gives him that look now—the one that makes him feel sure that she is pleased with him. He can feel himself blush, though he has seen this look before. He wonders if he will ever get used to it.

“A new tradition,” she says quietly, though her eyes are laughing. Now she lowers her voice to a near whisper. “With my brave boy,” she says, so no one else can hear.

He has known about her special name for him for years, but she rarely uses it when speaking directly to him. Thomas looks down, and feels his cheeks burn, though not with shame. It is simply that his untrained heart can only take so much love in one sitting—something Mrs. Hughes was always very adept at understanding. She pats his hand and says, “I’ll meet you by the back door in a few minutes.”

Then she stands from her chair, and leaves, to collect her things.

***

They are surrounded by near complete darkness when they step outside, and the air is frigid as well. The only light to guide them comes from the warm, yellow windows of the big house, but as Mrs. Hughes said, she knows her way well enough. Nevertheless, Thomas offers her his arm when they step out the back door, and he is glad when she takes it; they can keep each other warm this way.

And the truth is, Thomas knows the way to the cottages just as well, though he has never lived in one. Back before, when he was unreachable in his loneliness, he had walked down there some nights, while he smoked. He had stood in the shadows back then, and looked at the warmth that came from the little windows of the sitting rooms and kitchens, and tried to convince himself that this little glimpse of something was better than nothing.

He sighs a little, and Mrs. Hughes tightens her grip on his arm. He smiles down at her, and remembers once again that though he may not have all he ever wanted, he will never have to content himself with having nothing.

When they reach her front door, Thomas stops, and begins to make his goodbyes. Before he can get more than a word out, though, she stops him. “Why don’t you come in for a bit, and warm yourself?” she asks. “You’ve finished all your work at the house, haven’t you? Come in for just a bit of tea.”

He looks down. He hadn’t planned on this. “I—I’m not…” he starts.

“You have to see him some time, Thomas,” she murmurs, reading his thoughts.

He looks up at her now, suddenly nervous, and cannot think what to say. They both shiver.

“Come in,” she says, more gently this time, though she is somehow more convincing. He nods, and follows her through the front door.


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which two manly British men get together and very nearly talk about their feelings.

The entry way of the cottage is completely dark, and he wonders for a second or two if Mr. Carson is really home. But where else would he be? They hang up their hats and coats, and step into the sitting room. There is a faint light coming from the kitchen, and a fire burns low in the grate. Such dim light does not do anything to make Thomas feel more comfortable, or any less out of place.

“Charlie?” Mrs. Hughes calls out.

“I’m right here, my love,” a voice—nearer than either of them expected—answers. The voice belongs to Mr. Carson, of course, but Thomas has never heard him sound like this before. So soft, and loving. So at home.

As his eyes begin to adjust to the darkness, Thomas sees now that Mr. Carson is sitting in a chair next to the fire. He has covered his lap with a knitted blanket, and a book lies open across his knees, though it is far too dark for him to possibly have been reading. Thomas wonders how long he has been sitting alone in the dark, waiting for his wife to return home.

“I’ve brought Mr. Barrow with me,” Mrs. Hughes says, just a little too cheerfully, as though prodding her husband to match her manner with his answer.

His voice, however, returns to the one Thomas has known for most of his adult life. “You have? Well…” Mr. Carson stands now, at least willing to be polite, but does not step forward from his chair. The two men face each other in the darkness. “Good evening, Mr. Barrow,” Mr. Carson says, finally, his tone as hard as Thomas remembers.

Thomas swallows. “Good evening, Mr. Carson,” he says softly.

After several more seconds of either man failing to speak further, Mrs. Hughes says, rather brightly, “I’ll make some tea.” She leaves the sitting room, and goes into the kitchen, and Thomas can hear her filling the kettle with water from the tap.

Mr. Carson sits now, and Thomas does also, though he has not been invited to do so. He perches carefully on the edge of the little sofa that faces the fire, and tries to think of something to say. Oddly enough, Mr. Carson finds something to offer first.

“You must have had a very long day,” he says. “Traveling, and then… serving.”

Thomas nods, though he wonders if Mr. Carson can seem him in such faint light. “Yes,” he begins. “But it wasn’t… terrible. I was eager to get back.” He regrets this as soon as he says it. He wishes he could find a way to show the gratitude he feels at the opportunity to return to Downton as butler, without having to rub in Mr. Carson’s face the fact that he is taking his job.

He closes his eyes for a second, and thinks about the letter Mr. Carson sent him, just two weeks ago. His words had been so kind, and so humbling. He had apologized for the way he had treated Thomas last year, and even told him how proud he was of him. He had said there was no one he would rather leave his life’s work to than Thomas.

Thomas tries to remember that the man who wrote those words is the one sitting next to him now. He exhales very slowly, and opens his eyes. His vision is nearly completely adjusted to the dark now, and he can see Mr. Carson is looking back at him.

Mrs. Hughes enters from the kitchen, and places a tray with tea things on the low table in the middle of the room. Thomas notes with some alarm that there are only two cups. He looks up at her, but she is leaning down to kiss Mr. Carson’s cheek.

“I’m off to bed,” she says. “You two enjoy your tea. I’ll see you in the morning.”

And then she is gone.

Thomas wants to jump up from the sofa, and run out of the house. Or at least run after Mrs. Hughes, and demand to know what kind of trap this is. How could she do this? Invite him in for tea, then abandon him with Mr. Carson—who, though he has said he is sorry for what transpired between them last year—seems so… distant.

He looks at Mr. Carson, and is somehow shocked. For the older man is merely sitting calmly in his chair, with his hands on the armrests. He is looking back at Thomas, and there are actual tears in his eyes. He is not cold or harsh. His face is filled with sorrow.

“I’m sorry, Mr. Barrow,” he says, and his voice is somehow soft again, like it was before he knew Thomas was here. Thomas feels his shoulders drop, and he sits back slightly on the sofa.

“I’m sure you have nothing to be sorry for, Mr. Carson,” he says, gently.

Mr. Carson sighs. “I’m sure you were brought her under false pretenses.” Another sigh. “I’m sorry if Mrs. Hughes deceived you. I told her I needed to speak with you, and… she must have thought you wouldn’t come, otherwise.”

_Oh._

“And that is my fault,” Mr. Carson continues. “Entirely.”

Thomas swallows. “I’m sure that’s not true,” he offers, though he does not say any more.

Both men reach for their tea. Once they have had a sip, Mr. Carson asks, “How was your first day as butler? Truly. Are you settling in? Did you find everything… in order?”

“Of course I did, Mr. Carson. You’ve left everything as it should be. Everyone should be so lucky as to have you for a predecessor.”

Thomas can see well enough in the dark now to know that Mr. Carson smiles at that.

“Hm,” is all the older man says. They each take another sip of tea, and Thomas tries to find something in the room to look at. “Did you… like the tie?”

“The…? Oh, the tie! Yes, yes, of course,” Thomas says, remembering. “Lovely color,” he adds, just a little too late.

Mr. Carson clears his throat. “Happy… birthday,” he says.

Thomas nearly chokes on his tea. “Thank you,” he manages to say. His tea is nearly gone now. He wonders if that means he can leave.

He looks toward the door, beginning to plan his escape, when Mr. Carson says, “I do have a matter that I wish to discuss with you.”

_Oh, God._

Thomas tries desperately to smile. “Oh?” he asks, innocently.

Mr. Carson looks down. “Yes,” he says, then takes a deep breath. “It is… a difficult thing to speak about, I’m afraid.”

_Oh, GOD._

Thomas waits. Mr. Carson begins again.

“You know that my health… is not what it used to be. There is no cure for this ailment, and it will… probably be what takes my life. In the end.”

It is Thomas’ turn to take a breath. “I see,” is all he can manage.

Certain he has obtained some sort of understanding, Mr. Carson continues. “Of course I do not know how long I have. But that is not important. What is important right now is spending as much time as I can with… my wife.” Somehow his voice softens even more when he refers to Mrs. Hughes this way. Thomas looks down, and nods his head.

“And beyond that, what matters to me is… what will become of her. When I am gone.”

“I see,” Thomas says again, though he does not. What does Mrs. Hughes’ future as a widow have to do with him?

“Lord and Lady Grantham have been nothing but good to us,” Mr. Carson says, his voice strong again. “I have no doubt that she will be taken care of, in… most every regard, until the end of her life.”

But…?

“But…” Mr. Carson looks directly at Thomas now. There are tears in his eyes again, and when he speaks, his words are gentle again. “I do not wish for her to be alone.”

Thomas sets his cup in its saucer, then carefully places his hands on his knees, and waits for Mr. Carson to continue.

“We have both spent our lives in service, as you know, and we were fortunate to have married when we did. I have no other family, to speak of, and…”

“And…?” Thomas cannot help but prompt.

“And… she has only one other person in her life, whom she regards as family, who would be capable of looking after her… as she ages.”

Thomas feels his heart clench. He takes several small breaths, unable to completely control his breathing. He looks away from Mr. Carson, knowing there are tears in his own eyes now. Knowing what is coming, and hoping he will not fall to pieces when he hears the words.

“Mrs. Hughes… You must know… that Mrs. Hughes… loves you. As she would her own son.”

He somehow manages to stop the cry that is in this throat, but he cannot keep the tears in his eyes from falling. He turns almost fully away from Mr. Carson now, facing the front door. He clenches his fists, and keeps himself from covering his face with his hands, though he wants desperately to hide, to prevent Mr. Carson from seeing him so overwhelmed with emotion.

So he forces himself to inhale deeply, and says, “Yes, Mr. Carson. Yes, I do know that.”

Thomas steals a glance at Mr. Carson, only to see him give a curt nod, a gesture that seems oddly… professional, in this moment. He sits back just a little in his chair.

“Good,” he says quietly. “That’s good.” Then he leans forward again, as if trying to catch Thomas’ eye, trying to get him to turn back and face him. He says, ever so softly, “I daresay that of all the people she has loved in her life, she has loved you the longest.”

Thomas cannot help himself now; he stands abruptly, and takes a few steps toward the door. He stops, though, and after a moment, finally turns to face Mr. Carson. He knows there is a question coming, and he owes it to Mrs. Hughes to be brave, and answer it with honesty.

He draws himself up then, just as he did all those years ago, when he told the man before him that he is not foul. He is different, yes. But still good. He knows that now—after all he has been through in the last year, he knows it again.

“Do you…” Mr. Carson begins. “Do you return her love?”

“Yes,” Thomas says, almost immediately. “I do love her. As I would my mother.”

Both men exhale, and then, strangely enough, they both smile. Funny what simply speaking the truth can do. Thomas relaxes his posture, and Mr. Carson seems to sink just a little into his chair. Comfortable.

“Good,” Mr. Carson says again. This time, however, he seems not to be handing down approval, but applying the word to Thomas himself. “Then would you… consent to living here, one day? In this cottage, with her, as her family, if that is what she needs?”

Thomas swallows, and allows himself one wipe of each of his eyes with his fingertips. “Yes, Mr. Carson,” he whispers, as he has so many times before, in his life of service.

“Alright, then,” Mr. Carson says, his voice equally as low. He stands from his chair, and walks the few steps to where Thomas stands.

They stand a mere two feet apart now, and Thomas looks Mr. Carson up and down. He has to know. “Did she… ask you? To ask me this?”

“No,” Mr. Carson says, his voice still low and gentle. “But I know it is what she wants.”

Thomas nods.

“You’ll be wanting to get back, I’m sure,” he says, kindly. “It’s… rather late, and you’ve a busy day tomorrow.”

Thomas nods, and when he looks down, sees that Mr. Carson has offered him his trembling hand. He takes it, and the two men look each other in the eye as they shake hands. Thomas nods one last time, and turns to leave.

He steps silently out of the cottage, and closes the door behind him. He looks around at the front of the little dwelling, at where flowers will bloom near the step, come Spring. Then he looks up at the front window, and though it remains dark, remembers the warmth inside it.

The tiniest of laughs escapes him, and he begins his walk home. It is dark now, but he knows his way well enough. And the sun will soon be rising.


End file.
